


Bremminghum, the real MVP

by Allegory



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassin's Creed Syndicate, F/M, Fluff, Incest, Not Serious, Vanilla, evie x jacob, jacob is a total dork, jacob x evie, kiss, laughing at my own jokes, really tho, title for laughs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allegory/pseuds/Allegory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You reek of beer, Jacob.”<br/>“And you, sister, smell like a heavenly garden.”</p><p>(In which Jacob is a dork and Evie is a full-on tease)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bremminghum, the real MVP

It is an unmistakable attraction.

And one that is easy to dispel, too. The passcode is “we’re siblings,” and gone are the notion of passers-by and close acquaintances. Most others hear of them as the Frye twins and more often than Jacob should tolerate, there’s a bloke who has a greedy glint in his eye when he hears the name, _Evie Frye._

But that’s okay. Jacob is a patient man. It doesn’t show—except unless you happened to have a portable x-ray scanner and, say, looked hard at his grinding teeth as you flirted with his sister. And even then, Evie does tend to be rather oblivious to her brother unless he’s hurt or in real need of her attention. Which brings us back to the main gambit: Jacob is a patient, patient man. He will wait, and watch, and like a true assassin, he’ll strike when the time is right.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

Funnily enough, Jacob isn’t the first to notice. Nor Evie. Rather, it’s Henry, popping in their lot of the train to join them for morning tea and sandwiches. Evie makes Jacob do the food, as usual, though she only trusts Henry with the florals in each cup. They go about their daily routine.

“How was the ball?” Jacob asks, his voice uncharacteristically silent. Evie relishes in it; give him five minutes and a beef sandwich and he’s back to brandishing his cane sword.

“Fine. Posh, high society balls don’t tend to vary,” Evie replies. She doesn’t really give her opinion on it.

The quiet clatter of plates and cups overlay the chuckling of the train. Henry doesn’t have much in his head aside from his late night hours of research.

“And that chap with the preposterous name? Bremminghum was it?”

“Did his job,” says Evie. “Bought me time like he said he would.”

“I’ve heard his father owns a big law agency. A nobleman too, yes?”

Tea stops pouring from the pot. Henry turns back but sees neither of the twins acting out of sort—Evie is still plunged in her papers and Jacob is putting on the final touches for their breakfast.

“Indeed.”

The conversation is tied up and Jacob spreads out on his couch, finger foods shoved in his mouth.

Henry is in deep thought for the rest of the day.

It’s an inconspicuous shift but if Henry has spent any time at all with Jacob, he knows Jacob _doesn’t ask about details._ For him, it is one conversation after the next, his brain keen at any point in time to fire off at a new thought. And it’s especially true when he speaks with Evie—her curt, report-styled words just don’t make him stop and inquire. Henry wants to suppose that the human mind is fickle, that the occurrence is a mere anomaly, but it just doesn’t sit well with him.

And of course, just as it usually is when Henry is unsettled, his suspicions are founded. Subconsciously, Jacob jumps the gun—the next day, he tracks and finds Evie on a high roof in Lambeth.

“What’re you doing here, dear brother?” Evie asks before he even crawls up the ledge. Jacob sits next to her and for some unexplainable reason, the scenery just looks so whole: two Frye’s perched atop of the world, gazing down at the transience of life. He would be surprised to know she felt the same.

“Not much, not much. I’ve finished my tasks today. I’d imagine you as well?”

“Not quite,” says Evie. “I’ll be here till midnight. Ms. Jody Woods is scheming and I need to watch her movements.”

 _If only you’d watch me more than you watch criminals,_ Jacob thinks, indulgently.

“Mind if I make myself comfortable, then?”

Evie glances at him for the first time. She lowers the stolen edition of _The Templar Code_ in her hand. “Not at all.”

Dusk wraps around them like a cowl of ice. The air is frigid and thick with industrial smog—the regular atmosphere that clouds a Lambeth night. Under the fitful wisps of moonlight, Evie eventually groans in frustration and smacks the brown pages against one another. She just so happens to have strained for light with the book leaning to Jacob’s face.

A puff of ancient dust plumes his way.  Jacob coughs, louder than Evie thinks is necessary. While he is busy puckering his lips and scrunching his face, Evie looks over the ledge of the roof. She has not heard any carriages come close and it is still too early for anything to be happening.

Evie forgives Jacob this time. She is about to make that clear when she realizes there’s a lack of a lead on— Jacob hasn’t reprimanded her. Instead of shouting _blasted sister_ to the high heavens, he’s keeping quiet and Evie suddenly becomes aware of his stiff shoulders and glued arms. How long has he been sitting like that?

The moment of silence drags on until Evie can’t take it anymore. She stows her book away in her jacket.

“Is something wrong?” she asks, her voice soft and welcoming. A tone she sometimes needs to use when it comes to dealing with her younger brother.

“Yes. There is.” His reply is sharp and almost immediate. Evie raises an eyebrow at that and the abrupt resolve in his face shrinks as if he’d been scolded. Jacob looks like he’s about to shoot up from his seat next to her.

Evie sighs, unsure how to handle the situation. She doesn’t see him like this often. They’ve trained and lived together since birth and Jacob has always been profoundly ostentatious with everything he is and does. Even if he slips up and shoots the wrong damned thing, he’ll still find some way to brag about it. There are only a handful of things Jacob would ever show some sobriety about and it peeves Evie that she isn’t sure about this one.

“What is it, then?” she tries to coax the answer out of him.

Jacob clears his throat.  “It is—business. I just remembered, I have, err, something to attend to. Important Rook matters, oh yes.”

The sloppy, blundering words make Evie’s lips stretch like she’s saying _I’m not impressed_ and it is under that pressure and the watchful eyes of his seemingly know-it-all sister that Jacob resigns.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbles. “I was going to ask, um, can we...kiss?”

Evie blinks. She blinks and blinks until, rather obtrusively, she bursts out in a fit of laughter.

Jacob swears he would’ve heard her loud and clear even if he were sitting in Whitechapel idling about with his hidden blades. Taking understandable offense, he grunts, takes off his top hat and whacks Evie hard on her shoulder.

She doesn’t really feel it through her thick coat, but out of good sport and because Jacob is only like this once in a blue moon, Evie clutches onto her shoulder and cries in rather realistic agony.

“Bloody hell, Jacob, my wound—“she wheezes. Cue the heavy pants, an unfocused gaze—Jacob flinches and drops his hat.

“Shit! I’m sorry, I didn’t know—wait, why didn’t you tell me?!“

Evie holds her hand up at him. Jacob freezes.

“You want…to know why?” Evie whispers. She gestures for him to lean closer.

Jacob doesn’t think. He just abides, his prime instinct when his dear sister shows any hint of pain.

And to that, Jacob isn’t sure if it’s a curse or a blessing—but when she presses their lips together, his blood pumping harder than he thinks should be allowed, his thought loses its propaganda. There’s only Evie’s slow tilts, her rough and dry lips seeking new angles for his. She tastes like brine and sweat and flowery tea and Jacob feels desire bloom in his center.

He shifts closer and wraps an arm around her waist, feeling her breaths caress and tickle his nose. They are the only warmth in the evening air. They are the only warmth he needs. And neither of them want to part—it has been a few good long months since they established their home in London. Each of them have been so busy with their own missions and squabbles, Jacob has had to suppress his longings because they all felt so _inappropriate._ He is thankful now that it may not be so.

Eventually Evie pulls away, really gasping for breath this time. Jacob chuckles at that and Evie picks up after him.

“You reek of beer, Jacob.”

“And you, sister, smell like a heavenly garden.”

They get caught up in another bout of laughter. All the while, their foreheads are still pressed together and Jacob can see the entire world in those soft blue eyes, so close to his own.

“So, Bremminghum—“ Jacob feels a sharp pinch to the back of his hand.

“Now, of all times?” Evie grimaces, wrinkling her nose in half-mock and half-truth. Jacob looks truthfully remorseful and it reminds Evie of how much she loves this man. No matter their disputes and their priorities, this doting side of his will always manage to melt her heart.

In an annoying, Jacobly way, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Oneshot. Hope you guys enjoyed it! Working on more fics for the above OTP; don't you guys just love how sweetly they bicker?


End file.
